


Who Picks Up the Pieces

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Comfort, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Post-Reichenbach, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after Sherlock's suicide, Greg takes Mycroft for a weekend away to try to get him to deal with the loss of his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Greg Lestrade heard the car driving up. He poured the wine, waiting by the fireplace with a glass in his hand. This was no quaint cabin; nothing but the best for Mycroft Holmes. A fine rug covered most of the floor with two leather chairs facing the fireplace. Through one door was a bedroom with a king sized, four poster bed made up with only the best linens. Through another door was a well-stocked kitchen. There was no reason for either of them to need to leave this entire weekend, assuming Mycroft didn’t turn and walk out the minute he realized what Greg was planning.

The door opened, but Greg kept his back to it. He heard Mycroft shaking off the cold and hanging up his coat before stepping into the room. Greg could feel him looking him over, taking in the setting. He wondered if Mycroft would be silent; he often was, even before everything had happened. It had only been a few months since Sherlock’s death, but then again, that was the point of this weekend. Try to make Mycroft stop running away and face what he’d lost.

Mycroft picked up the other glass of wine and joined him by the fireplace. Greg let the comfortable silence stretch between them as Mycroft sipped his wine. Watching him, Greg could see the way that unborne grief weighed on him. There were more lines on his face these days, perhaps a touch of gray to his hair. He’d often felt self-conscious about his weight, but he’d clearly gained, not that Greg minded it.

“I was told to come here for an important meeting,” said Mycroft as he finished his glass, still watching the fire.

Greg moved closer to him, resting one hand on Mycroft’s back, feeling him stiffen. “This is an important meeting,” he said softly.

Mycroft turned and faced Greg. Placing one hand on his chest, Greg leaned up and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. The man watched him, still holding his glass and keeping himself firmly distant from his lover.

Stepping back, Greg started working methodically on his buttons, dark gaze locked on Mycroft’s face as the shirt slowly parted, revealing his chest dusted with gray hairs. Mycroft’s tongue darted out, betraying his lust, otherwise his face showed no emotions. Greg had seen no emotions since the day Sherlock jumped. Again, this was his purpose on bringing Mycroft here. There had been enough death in his time on the force, Greg knew a person had to mourn. He might not be able to help John, but Mycroft he knew almost as well as himself.

Shrugging off his shirt, Greg lay it across the arm of the chair. Neither of them were as young as they’d once been, a little soft around the middle, muscles not quite so firm. But that just made them a good match. Greg crossed to Mycroft, hearing the intake of breath as he slipped to his knees. But there was no movement to stop him as he carefully slid the belt lose.

With practiced ease, Greg freed Mycroft’s cock from its cage of clothes. He was half hard, just looking down at Greg with a slowly softening expression, hands sill by his side. Greg watched his eyes as he slowly licked up the shaft.

Mycroft’s eyes slipped closed as Greg bathed his cock with his tongue, teasing it to hardness, lapping up the dribbles of pre-cum as they started to leak out, his own hands down in his lap, surreptitiously rubbing the heel of his hand against his own growing erection. A delicate moan escaped Mycroft’s lips.

Hiding a smile, Greg slowly wrapped his lips around the head of Mycroft’s cock. He’d missed this, if he was honest, the taste of Mycroft on his tongue, the salty pre-cum tingling the back of his throat as he took in more. The fabric of the trousers halted his descent and he slowly backed off, dragging his tongue against the underside. Mycroft’s knees wobbled.

Greg pulled all the way off, sitting back on his knees, looking up at his lover. Mycroft opened his eyes, moved a hand and cupped Greg’s stubbled cheek. Just breathing, Greg watched him. His other hand moved to the back of his head, tugging him back to his cock.

Eyes closing, Greg laved the familiar cock with his tongue before taking it in his mouth again, working slowly, worshiping every inch as it came into his mouth. Mycroft’s hand settled in his hair as another moan escaped. He hollowed his cheeks, taking as much of him as he could until he earned a groan. Mycroft thrust down his throat, holding his head in place. Relaxing his throat, he took it until he felt him grow close. He pulled free and knelt back again, panting and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Smiling deviously, Greg looked up at Mycroft, watching his eyes darken with lust. Slowly Greg loosened his own belt, slipping it free from his jeans with a small thwick as it passed each loop. Mycroft’s tongue darted out again as he thumbed his button open. The zipper dragged down slowly, Mycroft’s eyes transfixed on the slow reveal of fabric. Greg kneeled up and started pushing the jeans down, leaving on his cotton pants, thick cock straining against the dark material and a growing wet spot from the pre-cum.

Slowly standing up, Greg suddenly grabbed the front of Mycroft’s waistcoat and shoved him into one of the plush leather chairs. Picking up the belt he straddled Mycroft’s lap. Grabbing the man’s wrists, he leaned in and kissed him hard, pushing his tongue into his mouth. Mycroft broke and moaned and he took the moment of distraction to tug the belt around his wrists and secure them to the back of the chair. Leaning back again he smiled wickedly as Mycroft blinked dazedly. Leaning over he poured himself another glass of wine.

Sipping slowly he watched Mycroft’s eyes start to focus again, narrowing as he tested the bond. Greg grinned. Mycroft thrust up against him and he ground down, reminding him who was in charge right now. Watching, he drained the rest of the glass. “Would you like some?”

Clearly not trusting himself to speak, Mycroft nodded. Greg picked up the bottle. “Open up then.”

There was a moment of struggle on his face. Heaven forbid Mycroft Holmes ever drink anything straight from the bottle. Finally though he opened his mouth, chest heaving with the effort. “Good,” said Greg, carefully pouring some into his mouth.

Mycroft swallowed, eyes promising murder. Greg chuckled and took a swig from the bottle himself before setting it back down on the side table. He leaned in and kissed Mycroft again, holding the back of his head and tasting the combination of wine and cock in their mouths. He broke the kiss and ran a thumb along Mycroft’s swollen lips.

Getting up, Greg went back to his jeans. Bending over purposely, he fished the lube out of his pocket. Taking a breath while the other man couldn’t see, he adjusted his erection. Still smiling, he turned back to Mycroft and leaned down to kiss him again, biting his lower lip as he pulled away. Slowly he hooked his fingers around the waistband of his pants and dropped them to the floor.

Mycroft’s hips rocked up with need. Standing in front of him, Greg opened the bottle of lube and liberally coated his fingers. While Mycroft watched he reached back to finger himself. “Feels so good,” he groaned. “Not as good as your cock, of course. But I’m, mmm, stretching myself for you.” He could see how much the other man’s cock was leaking as he stared at Greg.

Greg leaned over and grabbed the bottle of wine, taking another swig and setting it down before he knelt over Mycroft’s lap. “What do you want?” he asked Mycroft.

Mycroft’s lips parted as he met Greg’s eyes, swallowing. “You know what I want,” he said steadily.

“Must not want it that badly.” Greg reached for the bottle of wine again. Mycroft lifted a leg, toppling him onto the floor.

Greg sat up, indignant. “Guess you don’t want it then. I’ll just have to take care of myself.” He leaned back on one hand and started stroking himself with the other, dropping his head back and moaning loudly.

“Damn you,” muttered Mycroft. Greg could hear him working on getting his hands free.

“All you have to do is ask,” he said without looking back at Mycroft.

There were a few more sounds of struggle. “Greg.”

Biting his lip, Greg opened his eyes and looked at him. “Yes?”

“I…” even after all this time, some things were hard for Mycroft to say. “Come here.”

Greg got up and knelt over Mycroft’s lap. He draped one arm around Mycroft’s neck, using the other hand to guide Mycroft against his entrance but not bearing down.

Mycroft’s eyes closed and he gritted his teeth. “Please,” he breathed.

Greg leaned in to kiss him as he pressed down. Mycroft’s hips jerked up as he rode him hard, groaning his pleasure as Mycroft panted beneath him. It had been months since they’d been together like this and in no time at all Greg shouted his pleasure, staining the waistcoat. Mycroft whimpered as he followed him over the edge.

He kissed Mycroft tenderly, then reached back to free his hands. Mycroft panted against his shoulder, bringing his hands forward to wrap around him as soon as they were free. Greg smiled softly and kissed his head. “Come on to bed,” he said quietly as soon as their hearts had slowed.

Mycroft nodded and he helped him up. He had no plans to let his lover out of bed in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg woke in the middle of the night to Mycroft muttering and thrashing in the middle of the large bed. Nightmares were nothing new in their relationship, but nearly getting slapped in the face by the violence of one was. Sitting up, he grabbed Mycroft’s wrist. The other man cried out and tried to hit him, struggling. In a moment, Greg had his arms pinned behind his back, legs wrapped around Mycroft’s waist to hold him in place as his free hand ran soothing down his chest. “It’s me,” he said in his ear. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

“Sherlock.” Mycroft whimpered fearfully in a tone that Greg had never heard.

Taking a shuddering breath, Greg kissed his ear. “You need to wake up, Mycroft.”       

The man stilled after a long moment and he could tell by his breathing he was awake. “Gregory?” he asked tentatively.

Greg let go of his arms, but still held him against his chest. “Yes.”

Mycroft rubbed his face, then pulled away, holding himself stiffly. “I am fine. You may go back to sleep now.”

“No, you aren’t,” said Greg. “I didn’t drag you out here just to shag you senseless against the carpet.”

Turning a bit, Mycroft cocked an eyebrow at him. “That seemed to be your primary intent upon my arrival.”

“Give a bloke a break, it’s been months,” said Greg with a slight smile.

Mycroft turned away again. “There is nothing to discuss.”

“You just had the worst nightmare I’ve ever seen you have in all the years we’ve been together.” He watched the stiff back carefully.

Swinging his legs off the bed, Mycroft started to get up. “You don’t sleep with me every night. I will sleep in the den so as not to disturb you further.”

Greg moved faster, coming around the bed and blocking him. He put his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders. “You lost your brother and the most important family you had left.”

Anger crossed Mycroft’s face. He shoved Greg’s hands away. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”

Keeping his feet planted, Greg didn’t move. “You think I haven’t lost people before? Good people? Men and women I was close to?”

Quite suddenly Greg found himself flat on his back, head spinning as he tasted blood. It took him another few seconds to realize Mycroft had actually punched him and was standing over him, looking both utterly contrite and absolutely angry.

Watching him, Greg wiped his mouth, remembering John punching the Chief. He picked himself up and met Mycroft’s gaze, seeing the anger and fear in his eyes. “Good. Be angry. You can’t not feel anything, it’s impossible.”

Mycroft turned away first, pushing past Greg for the den. Finding the wine he poured himself a glass with hands barely trembling. “Moriarty is finished. My brother…took care of him.”

It was plain to Greg that there was more there, secrets Mycroft was keeping. But he knew better than to push or ask. “But you still lost him. Sherlock still jumped off that roof.”

Mycroft looked towards the fire. “Do you know how many times I expected him to turn up dead when he was using? That brilliant mind of his and he was burning it up. He knew I kept an eye on him, but there were still times he gave my people the slip. And the more I pushed him to get clean, the greater he resented me.”

Greg moved towards him. “All of that and this was how he ended up,” he said softly, biting back the ‘I’m sorry’ that sounded shallow even in his own mind.

Mycroft nodded. “I remember when he was brought home from hospital as a newborn,” he said to the fireplace. “So small. They didn’t want me to hold him, afraid I would drop him. I promised I never would.”

Reaching Mycroft, Greg took the glass from his hand, watching the man who was his lover and his friend. “I know, it’s not fair.”

He shook his head and looked away. Greg could see the tremble in his shoulders through the thin material of his pyjama shirt. Silently he set the glass on the mantle and wrapped a strong arm around him, holding Mycroft against his chest, resting his head against his shoulder.

One hand splayed across Mycroft’s heart. Beneath his hands he could feel Mycroft tense and release, tense and release as he fought against his emotions. He wondered if anyone knew how deeply Mycroft Holmes loved his brother. Or if Sherlock had ever known. The git would probably have scoffed if he did, not to speak ill of the dead.

Turning in Greg’s arms, Mycroft kissed him, full of need, wanting a distraction from the war in his heart. Greg pulled away, stroking his cheek and studying his eyes. Still keeping the silence, he took his hand and led him back to bed.

Mycroft watched him as he unbuttoned the pyjamas, leaning down to kiss a path down his chest. There was no protest as he nuzzled underneath his neck, stroking his hip. A sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan escaped his lover’s lips. There were many things he could say, words of comfort or of love, but that had never been the way things were between them. Instead he let the caresses of hands across skin speak for him.

Pushing his bottoms down, Mycroft leaned forward to capture Greg’s lips in a heartbreakingly tender kiss. Greg’s heart fluttered as he sighed into it, pushing down his own pants. He ran a hand through Mycroft’s hair, then reached for the lube. Pushing Mycrofts legs apart with his knees, he slowly ran his finger along his entrance, making Mycroft break the kiss and moan with pleasure, legs trembling already.

Greg wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him close as he slowly began to finger him. Mycroft’s legs drew back as he made himself open and vulnerable. He knew how much trust was placed in his hands in moments like these. Greg leaned down and kissed the soft skin of Mycroft’s belly, watching him carefully.

Mycroft’s eyes squeezed shut and his breath turned shallow as Greg added more lube and continued to stretch him, resting his cheek on his stomach, watching his face and glancing down at the way his cock twitched in response to his fingers. Greg licked at the cut on his lip.

Judging Mycroft to be ready, he withdrew his fingers and slid up. Mycroft’s eyes opened as he positioned himself and it was startling to see so much heartbreak there. Greg stroked his cheek, hesitating, but Mycroft shifted his hips and reached down to guide him in himself.

Moving slowly, Greg continued to stroke Mycroft’s cheek until he turned his head and kissed his palm. Greg kissed his neck, thrusting shallowly, covering him with his body. There was the smallest broken noise and he raised his head to see Mycroft’s eyes closed again, tears leaking free. He wiped them away with his thumb, kissing his jaw.

They stayed like that for long minutes, Greg continuing to move even as he went soft, as if giving an excuse for holding his lover this way. By the time he slipped out and rolled onto his back, Mycroft was biting back sobs. Greg pulled him to his chest and held him, running a soothing hand down his back, tears stinging his own eyes.

They fell asleep that way, tangled in the covers, Greg holding Mycroft close, silence wrapped around them like a comfortable blanket, the ghost of Sherlock Holmes hovering close at hand.


	3. Chapter 3

Greg woke to the smell of bacon cooking. Stretching, he rolled out of bed, and made his way out to the kitchen. Mycroft was just setting food at the table and gave him a nod. Greg sat down and sipped the perfect tea. They ate in companiable silence

After breakfast they settled in front of the fireplace. Somehow Mycroft had acquired that day’s paper while Greg picked a random book from the shelf. They stayed that way the rest of the morning until Greg got up to make them some lunch.

When lunch finished, Greg went back out to pick up his book, just getting interested in the plot. Mycroft came out a few minutes later. A tiny smile quirked across his lips as he went to his knees in front of Greg. He pretended not to notice and turned a page in his book.

Mycroft stroked his bare thighs. Greg hadn’t bothered putting on more than pants today. Mycroft’s thumbs stroked the sensitive skin that made his cock jump. Setting the book aside, he looked down at Mycroft and gave a nod.

Leaning forward, Mycroft mouthed his cock through the cotton, giving the task his considerable single minded focus. Greg leaned back and watched him work, closing his eyes as he brought him to full attention. One hand stole down to stroke his hair. Pulling back, Mycroft hooked his fingers around the band and tugged down Greg’s pants.

Greg cupped Mycroft’s chin and kissed him deeply, sliding his tongue slowly into the other man’s mouth, reveling in the taste of him until he moaned. Breaking the kiss and standing, he tugged Mycroft until he was bent over the chair. Without being told, he pushed off his bottoms and spread his legs for Greg.

Running a hand along his arse, Greg gently kissed down his spine. Patting him, he turned and padded into the bedroom to retrieve the lube. Taking a breath as he came back out, he paused to admire the sight of Mycroft waiting silently, head pillowed on his arms, eyes closed, thighs open and infinitely patient.

Moving nearly silently on the soft rug, Greg walked to his lover, leaning over and kissing the back of his neck. A soft moan escaped Mycroft’s lips and he could tell by the slight tremble in his hips just how needful he was. He ran a soothing hand down his back before cupping his hip. He opened the bottle with one hand, leaned down and nibbled the soft flesh of his side before gently pressing a finger inside.

Another soft moan broke the silence as Greg gently stretched him open, adding a second finger when he felt loose enough. He leaned down to bite at his hip, grazing teeth against familiar freckled skin. Mycroft started rocking back against his fingers, control slipping, fingers grasping at the leather. A tiny cry as Greg added a third finger, worrying his flesh now with his teeth.

Greg knelt back, palming his own erection, leaving Mycroft trembling and arching as he withdrew his fingers. He knew without looking just how lust blown his eyes would be, trickles of sweat along his pale back, cock hard and leaking against the leather chair. Biting his lip, Greg positioned himself against his ready entrance. He held him in place, just teasing until a whimper escaped Mycroft’s lips.

Driving him against the chair, Greg pushed in deep. Mycroft cried out loudly as he was taken hard. The air was heavy with the faint sound of his cock rubbing against the soft leather, the slap of skin on skin, Greg groaning with pleasure as Mycroft turned incoherent under his hands.

There was a mumbled cry as Mycroft fell over the edge. Greg yanked him from the chair and shoved him against the carpet, one hand planted firmly on his back, pinning him in place as he rode him through his orgasm. Hair fell damp in his eyes as Mycroft’s hands fisted uselessly, helpless underneath his onslaught.

One more groan and Greg filled him, moving his hand to plant them on either side of Mycroft’s chest as he gave a few more thrusts. Finally he pulled carefully out and collapsed next to his lover. Mycroft turned his head with bright eyes and leaned over to give Greg a tender kiss. Greg wrapped an arm around him and held him close.

They lay like that, just wrapped one around the other in front of the roaring fire. Mycroft stirred first, giving Greg another kiss. Greg smiled and pushed Mycroft onto his back, leaning over to kiss slightly skinned elbows and knees. Finally he gave his cock the smallest kiss, making it twitch, though they both knew it would be a while before they could go another round.

Smiling, Greg took his hand and helped him up, leading him into the kitchen. With a grin he reached into a cabinet and pulled out a small cake, watching as he sliced it up and handed one over.

Leaning against the counter, Mycroft took his piece and ate it delicately, just watching Greg. The sun was setting through the west windows and for the moment all was right.


	4. Chapter 4

Greg woke the next morning with a feeling of dread. Sure enough, he opened his eyes to find Mycroft buttoning up his shirt, half turned away, morning sun making his face look paler than normal. “You don’t have to leave first thing.”

“I have business to attend to, Gregory.” He reached for his waistcoat and looked over, taking in Greg’s two-day beard and bed-tousled hair. Of course Mycroft was already impeccable.

Greg rolled to a seat, scooting to the end of the bed and putting a hand out to stop him. “No, not like this.”

Mycroft pulled his hands free, taking a step to the mirror as he put the waistcoat on, watching himself button it up. “This weekend has been delightful.”

Greg got up and stepped in front of Mycroft, blocking the mirror. “That wasn’t the point and you know it.”

Mycroft looked at some point beyond Greg’s shoulder and reached for his jacket without looking. “There is nothing to discuss. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am needed in London.”

Greg gripped his arm, preventing him from walking out of the bedroom. “You are needed right here.”

“Did you not get enough yesterday?” Mycroft sneered.

In one swift movement, Greg flipped him around, pinning his arm against his back. Mycroft moved to sweep his legs from under him, but Greg anticipated it and in a moment had Mycroft on his knees, standing behind him, holding him in place. “You are not leaving.”

“Let me go,” Mycroft’s tone turned dangerous. Greg wouldn’t put it past him to have snipers outside, but he hadn’t had him killed yet, he doubted he’d start now.

“No. I am not letting you leave and undo everything we did this weekend.” Greg’s breath was coming short, but Mycroft was as immobile as a statue, looking evenly into the middle distance. “You need to face the truth.”

“And which truth would that be?” Mycroft’s voice was as even as if he were discussing a particularly boring cabinet meeting.

“Your brother is dead and is not coming back.” Greg winced as he said the words.

Suddenly Mycroft broke free. He spun and grabbed Greg by the front of his t-shirt, shoving him hard against the wall, hair falling loose with the effort. “You don’t know anything,” he growled.

Greg studied his cold blue eyes. “I know what I saw. You might know more than me,” it was his turn to keep his tone calm. “But even if by some miracle he survived, I’m guessing you can’t talk to him. He’s out of your life, for now at least.”

Emotions danced across Mycoft’s eyes before he dropped his hands and turned away. Greg put his hands on his shoulders. “Stay for breakfast, at least?”

There was the smallest nod. Greg picked up the suit jacket. “I’ll go put the kettle on.” He took it with him, knowing Mycroft wouldn’t leave without it.

When Mycroft appeared in the kitchen his hair was fixed, waistcoat neatly in place. Greg put a plate in front of him. “You have my number.”

Sipping his tea, Mycroft nodded. He looked at his plate as Greg sat across from him. “Gregory?” for once his voice was tentative.

“Yes?” he spread jam on his toast, voice quiet as his heart skipped.

Taking a breath Mycroft reached across the table and touched his hand. Greg looked up and met his eyes. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Greg dropped his toast onto his plate. He got up and came around the table, tilting Mycroft’s chin and kissing him. He felt him relax under him. A small smile twitched across his lips. “You’re welcome.” He returned to his seat and toast.

They finished breakfast in silence. Mycroft watched Greg as he finished his tea. “Will you accompany me back to London?”

Greg was surprised; usually they were careful to take separate transportation. What was between them they kept very quiet, even more quiet then John and Sherlock had. But then again, things were different now, weren’t they? “Yes, I will, let me just get dressed.” He draped the suit jacked on the back of a chair as a good will gesture.

He headed back to the bedroom, throwing his things in his bag before jumping in the shower. A quick shave and he was dressed again as DI Lestrade. Mycroft stepped into the bedroom and gently adjusted Greg’s blazer. “I will have to have my tailor make you a new one. You’ve lost weight.”

“Been a tough couple of months.” Greg met his eyes in the mirror.

Mycroft gave a tiny nod. Greg turned and pressed one more gentle kiss against his lips. Mycroft led the way out, collecting his umbrella from entryway as Greg got the door. The car was already waiting for them. He followed Mycroft across the snowy path, knowing that they’d have to do this again sooner rather than later. For both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. If you think I should write more about Greg and Mycroft (or anything else), leave a comment, or you can always find me on tumblr (link's in my profile).

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
